The Process and Product of Planning
by xxThe Extra
Summary: Kyle Broflovski, aspiring architect, seeks the friendship of the obscenely wealthy Mr. Cartman in order to gain more experience in his field; Mr. Cartman feels their relationship would be better suited to other purposes. Kyman. AU: 1800s England.
1. Their First Encounter

**A/N: Hello! I've been having some writer's block with _Shoebox _lately, but I've still been itching to write, so I decided to channel my creative energy into this story. It's set in 1800s England and so I've tried to get my writing style to reflect that. Anyway, enjoy!**_  
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_Chapter 1 - Their First Encounter, Which Includes A Frenchman And Several Blondes_

Ike's long-term stay at the Tucker residence lasted three days longer than he said it would, and so Mrs. Broflovski was left drowning in worry for the last seventy-two hours before her son arrived home. It was not entirely unlike Ike to run amok England without considering his mother's wellbeing, which was always threatened by her son's carelessness, but two factors had Mrs. Broflovski especially close to tearing out her hair when Ike did not appear on their doorstep on exactly the date he had specified: first, Mr. Broflovski had recently been forced to reprimand Ike for his lack of responsibility and the father had made his son promise that he should return home late again only if an emergency presented itself; second, the Tuckers had a young daughter, who was a few years older than Ike, and who Mrs. Broflovski was convinced her son was wooing and hiding away from other men who would make a much more appropriate match for the beautiful Ruby. As such, Mrs. Broflovski paced feverishly through her home, her face periodically passing from worry to embarrassment and back again, as she thought alternatively of what she believed were the only explanations for her son's absence.

Kyle Broflovski spent the three days of anxiety scribbling in his sketchpad, designing various prison cells for his parents to lock Ike away in when he finally returned, as he believed that at the very least one would be necessary, and he was admittedly the sort of older brother who found a certain amusement in tormenting his sibling.

When Ike decided the Broflovski estate had been missing his presence for long enough, he burst through the front doors with rosy cheeks and a few stories to tell. Upon seeing his younger brother, Kyle's face was immediately distorted into an expression of pure terror, and as Ike's soon followed suit, both brothers had apparently come to the same conclusion, a few minutes too late. Mrs. Broflovski had, by this time, already flown down the stairs in a rage and flung herself at her son, hugging him one second and yelling at him the next, until neither Broflovski boy could hear above the ringing in his ears, and Ike had been suitably shaken. The young boy's hair askew and clothing ruffled on a level Mrs. Broflovski deemed appropriate, the matriarch called her husband to dinner and the family sat down to a table full of food. Kyle exchanged glances with his brother throughout the first few minutes of the meal, urging him to remain silent, lest their mother's rage resurface. After even holding a knife threateningly in Ike's view failed to diminish the excitement in his eyes, Kyle sighed and nodded shortly, resigned to the possibility of losing his hearing for the second time that day.

"The Tuckers are all well," Ike began, lifting his mouth into a charming smile that almost sent his mother fuming again. However, before she could begin speaking, Ike continued onto another note entirely. "Although truthfully, they were far from the most exciting part of my visit, and they were not the reason for my extended stay."

"Ike," Mrs. Broflovski said shrilly, "if you are testing my patience, you may excuse yourself from dinner early." An even wider smile found its way onto Ike's face. Kyle decided against speaking, and shared a look with his father.

"Oh, no, Mother! You misunderstand me. I truly do have important information to share with the family. In fact, it will interest Kyle _especially_."

Mrs. Broflovski's eyes lit up and turned accusingly to Kyle, as if he were somehow involved in his brother's long absence. Kyle, both upset by the shifting blame and intrigued by Ike's statement, kept his eyes squarely on his brother.

"If you are about to tell me of a beautiful woman you saw who I simply _must_ become acquainted with, then you should already be aware that I am, at this point, uninterested in such affairs, and instead am focusing entirely on my architectural career." Kyle spoke carefully, attempting to absolve himself from any guilt and yet still make his words sharp enough to get Ike to keep quiet. "And if your information has nothing to do with either young ladies or my career, I think you will find it holds absolutely no relevance to me."

"Aha!" Ike exclaimed, acting as though he had caught a bear in his trap. His eyes gleamed as he set his fork and knife down, ready to use his hands to better express himself. "But my information does pertain to architecture, as much as you seem to think it unlikely! I see the shock in your eyes! But a piece of gossip has made its way to my ears, and I thought it inconsiderate to flee the Tuckers' company before I had acquired more of the news which may very well help propel Kyle's career."

Kyle sat up straighter and, if his mother made anymore disagreeable sounds, did not hear them. He had been, in the last five years, researching and reading books on architecture in the hopes of becoming a successful architect himself. His days were often split between reading up on the subject and designing his own hypothetical projects. Although his last three days had revolved around sketching prison cells, his many notebooks contained a wider variety of design, ranging from farmhouses to castles. Kyle, not being especially social, having only a casual interest in music, and having exhausted most of the academic materials in his household, found architecture a wonderful creative outlet, as well as a challenge in terms of planning a strong structural blueprint. Additionally, and although he would not dare to mention this in front of his father, the idea of becoming a banker was so far from what he desired for his future that he had since a young age resolved to become a successful architect so that he would not spend his life handling other peoples' money.

Ike paused for a moment of suspense before continuing.

"Someone has bought fifty acres of land, quite unexpectedly, less than a day's ride from here," he said, "and, if we are to go by word of mouth, intends to construct a mansion there with the help of Mr. Herbert _Garrison_."

Kyle leaned forwards, trying to ascertain whether Ike was attempting to provoke some sort of jealous reaction out of him by mentioning the name, or if there was an opportunity hidden within his words.

"And, according to what the younger Mr. Tucker has heard from his good friend, the man who has purchased this land will be attending Mr. Donovan's ball in only a week's time, most likely looking for social connections, which I will now advise Kyle to make with him."

Kyle's mind whirred at what Ike's statements implied, considering how, if he should plant himself in this rich man's good graces, he should be able to observe the renowned architect Mr. Garrison at work. Even to someone whose interest in architecture stopped at being a passive hobby, it still sounded like a tremendous experience. But—for this rich man to be attending one of Mr. Donovan's balls, which had a certain reputation for being overly loud!

"Have you heard any details concerning this man, especially in terms of age?" Kyle asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "It seems to me that a gentleman who is capable of spending so much wealth on a project such as this should not be interested in knowing someone with so few years of life to account for." Kyle, although twenty-four, recognized that he was not nearly old enough to be placed on the same level as the men with whom his father associated, much less those of such a high class. Ike continued on.

"Ah, but you see, here is the most fascinating part: this rich man is only five years older than I, and yet hundreds of times richer than our family! And, strangely, the man has no living relations. Imagine!"

Kyle quietly took in the information, now feeling overwhelmed by the opportunities for him at hand, and occupied by thoughts of such a young, lonely man.

"Five years older than you," Kyle said, slightly amazed. "My age exactly."

...

After mulling it over for only a few hours, Kyle decided to take his younger brother's advice. True, he had already turned down Mr. Donovan's invitation, as he had attended several of the man's balls in the past and found himself receiving unwelcome advances from Miss Stevens as well as harsh looks from the host himself. But he thought that attending and making this mysterious, wealthy man's acquaintance should outweigh the embarrassment he would feel upon facing those two difficult friends again. Additionally, Kyle's closest friend, Stanley Marsh, would be ecstatic at Kyle suddenly changing his mind, as the boy often said that when Kyle was not around, Mr. Donovan's balls were sorely lacking in good company. And so, on the eve of the ball, Kyle found himself in a carriage approaching the Donovan household, accompanied by Stanley and Ike. Ike, miraculously, had managed to assuage his mothers' frantic worries and had somehow persuaded his parents to give him permission to attend with Kyle. Kyle himself was still in awe of his brother's skill with sweet words.

The three flooded into the ballroom, with the atmosphere already uncultured and rowdy. The entire house was severely masculine, as it had been missing a female presence since the death of Mrs. Donovan many years prior. This rough tone, which pervaded every aspect of the home, was likely what had kept the younger Mr. Donovan from marrying, as although Clyde had money and eagerness to spare, the idea of feminizing the estate even to a small degree was quite intimidating.

As the musicians readied their violins for another song, and a large group formed a procession of dancers in the middle of the room, Stanley gripped Kyle's arm and dragged him into a slightly smaller room off to the side, one with people mostly engaged in eating and speaking.

"Not minutes into the ball," Stanley said, with a weak smile, once they had come to a stop, "and you should already be thanking me. I have just spared you from an encounter with your lovely mistress." Kyle peeked around the doorway and immediately caught sight of Miss Stevens parading through the ballroom, looking distracted, and dancing with a man she obviously could not wait to be rid of.

"Is there ever a moment when I do not owe you my endless gratitude?" Kyle said, sighing. Stanley chuckled and the two up took a more covert spot against the wall, observing the various partygoers and their manners.

They both laughed heartily as Ike, who had been left to his own devices immediately after they entered the house, tried to flirt with the oldest bachelorette in the room, Miss Henrietta Biggle. Miss Biggle, her eyes narrowing further at every word coming out of Ike's mouth, was clearly attending the ball only reluctantly, and had likely been trying to avoid Ike's company. She was a favorite of the younger boy's, although the difference in their ages made any union of the two seem almost obscene.

Although Mr. Donovan himself was in the large ballroom, his friend Mr. Tucker could be seen arguing quietly with Mr. Tweak over some trivial subject or another, while the younger Ruby Tucker was speaking quietly with her friends, which consisted of her cousin, Miss Rebecca Tucker, and several of the other young ladies who inhabited the surrounding area.

"Ah," exclaimed Kyle to his friend, as someone else caught his eyes, "I may already be able to pay back my dues." He directed Stanley's attention to the woman who had just walked into the room, the lovely Miss Testaburger. Kyle felt his friend jolt immediately to attention, and saw him begin nervously wringing his hands.

"Miss Testaburger looks rather—occupied tonight," Stanley said, with clear anxiety. His eyes wavered over to the man she was approaching, the rather wealthy Mr. Gueermo.

"Miss Testaburger, I believe, would not mind being doubly occupied," Kyle whispered before giving his friend a quick shove in the lady's direction. He sent a reassuring smile Stanley's way when the man paused and looked frightfully over his shoulder one last time.

Now left alone, Kyle stood quietly for a moment, then proceeded to find himself a glass of wine and set off on his mission. Although he hadn't even a name for this man, he assumed that the presence of such an obviously influential character would be difficult to miss, and that, with the large density of people attending the ball, at least one would have the knowledge he was in need of.

While he toyed with the idea of asking Miss Stevens, as she had quite the reputation for being a gossip and would be more than willing to share her information with him, Kyle quickly found another option.

"Zees party, ah, eet eez, _magnifique_!"

The unmistakable French accent came from the ragged character at Kyle's left, who was attempting to engage in conversation with a gaggle of girls who seemed a bit too young for his company. Mr. Christophe, infamous and often feared, attended balls which he was not invited to; a scruffy-faced man with clothes that were more often dirty than not, his business was unknown, and most were reluctant to deny him entrance to their homes for fear of the consequences. Although always drunk at balls, seeing him in daylight was quite a different experience. He would still remain unshaven and uncleanly, yet his demeanor would change significantly, and he would present himself as a serious, close-mouthed figure who would scrutinize those around him. His business partner, Mr. Gregory, who was a stark contrast to Mr. Christophe, did not appear to be in attendance. Thus, Mr. Christophe's intoxicated mouth was free to speak as it pleased, uninhibited by sobriety or his tight-lipped counterpart.

"Zee company as well, such wealthy visitors, and, such, ah, _respectable_ women!"

At this point, Kyle decided to intervene between Mr. Christophe and his 'respectable women', both to spare the ladies from any further embarrassment and to inquire further about the 'wealthy visitors' previously mentioned. He wedged himself into the conversation.

"Excuse me, but perhaps you may grant me a private audience with Mr. Christophe?" Kyle said. The girls immediately scattered, shooting him thankful looks before going on their way. However, this interference earned Kyle a rough glare from the Frenchman as well as the girls' gratitude.

"I did not mean to be rude," Kyle said carefully, "but it was not difficult to see that the conversation had run dry, and I believe we can agree that my entrance did little more than permit them a more graceful means of exiting it."

Mr. Christophe twisted his mouth into a sneer and threw back his drink, finishing it off and adding to the pink tinge of his face.

"_Non, non_, I believe we can not agree, as whether or not you are right, my drink often makes me, eh, disagreeable." A second glare was directed at Kyle, who resolved to extract the necessary information and make his leave as quickly as possible.

"Well, while the ladies may not have been engaged by your discussion, I was most certainly intrigued by it," he began. "I apologize for listening when I was not invited to, but your mention of the 'wealthy visitors' currently in attendance could not escape my notice. A brief elaboration on the point and I shall gladly leave you to—further your other pursuits."

Upon being reminded of his pursuits, Mr. Christophe adorned a wide grin to his red face and nodded deeply and clumsily, so much so that Kyle was afraid the other man would topple over at any instant.

"Yes, I suppose indulging you would not harm me, would eet?" A deep chuckle rose from Mr. Christophe's throat before the man suddenly adopted a stern expression and grabbed Kyle by the front of his shirt. Mr. Christophe proceeded to drag him across the room until they were placed at the doorway, both peeking out into the main ballroom. Mr. Christophe once berated Kyle for allowing himself to be visible from the 'enemy vantage point', and although Kyle had by this point been thoroughly shaken by the experience, was soon rewarded for his troubles.

"There," Mr. Christophe whispered, pointing towards a long table, covered with food and drink, which lay beside the ballroom's left wall and was currently being swarmed by a variety of guests. Following Mr. Christophe's finger precisely, Kyle's view landed on three men who were seemingly engaged in conversation, and, judging by their casual stances, were apparently close friends. "Zee Mr. Cartman, he eez among them, and, by my knowledge, easily the richest to have set foot in zee Donovan's wretched home tonight." While Kyle thought it quite rude of Mr. Christophe to insult the Donovans, considering that he had not even been invited to the celebration, he kept quiet in the hopes of gaining more information. "Zee three arrived together, and I understand that zeez has generated shock among some of zee other guests, as zhey appear somewhat—_unrefined_." As Kyle observed the trio, a young woman made a brief attempt at approaching the three—likely seeking Mr. Cartman's attentions—before being promptly rebuffed. Beside him, Kyle heard Mr. Christophe murmur. "Ah, perhaps _she_ does not mind her men unrefined." The Frenchman wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand before clapping Kyle on the shoulder and muttering, "wish me luck."

And so, his source of information having fled in the pursuit of other interests, Kyle was left to his own devices, with only a vague knowledge of his target. He remained in his position near the doorway, analyzing the appearance of each of the three men in turn, still thoroughly in the dark as to which was the wealthy Mr. Cartman and which comprised his entourage.

The three made an odd group. The first, lanky and with terrible posture, stood a few inches taller than Kyle and bore a slight smirk. Rough blond hair lay messily on his head, as though its owner had just woken up from a night of heavy drinking. And while the trio had previously denied ladies entrance into their circle, this man's eyes lingered on the women as they left. The lasting impression that the man gave was not that of a gentleman.

The second man was quite a bit shorter than the first, perhaps two inches shorter than Kyle, yet quite wide. Contrasting his friend's, this man's light brown hair was combed through thoughtfully and parted neatly on one side; additionally, the man was clean-shaven, and had taken pains to appear quite put-together. And while he carried extra weight, he had significant poise and, even from a great distance, appeared quite intelligent. Yet his words, uttered quickly and covertly, seemed to have a great effect on his friend, who would often break out in rough laughter, and so Kyle determined that this second man was slightly rude, and likely underhanded.

The third man was likewise unappealing, albeit in his own way; Kyle began to have slight doubts that, given the incredible intoxication of Mr. Christophe, the Frenchman had made a grave error or otherwise deluded himself into believing the group of hooligans he was currently inspecting were actually the confidants of one of the area's wealthiest citizens. The third man's hair, blond like the first's, yet much lighter, was not quite as well-kept as the second's, as the third's seemed more difficult to manage—though not for lack of trying. His posture was horrible, though a sense of anxiety pervaded it that made his errors almost excusable. Kyle felt unexplainable pity for the pale man, who laughed along with his company yet seemed less engaged in the conversation.

Truthfully, Kyle was at a loss. There was not such a difference in the three manners that one man could clearly be singled out as the owner of several thousand pounds while the others appeared obviously too coarse to be wealthy. He supposed his best bet was the third man, who, although he exuded a nervous air, looked to have the best breeding out of the group. Kyle thought it more likely that a rich heir be fearful than speak frankly cruel words, and after remembering that Ike had said the man had no living relations, thought it not unreasonable for Mr. Cartman to be constantly distraught.

Thinking that his detailed analysis held considerable merit and deciding that his best course of action would be to simply approach the group and request an audience with Mr. Cartman, Kyle found a place to set his wine glass and smoothed his outfit. Finding his cravat in appropriate order, he adopted a confident pose and, with heart slightly busy in his chest, began to walk towards the three.

He stopped abruptly in front of them, while the third man, his Possibly-Mr. Cartman, was speaking with the second man about a matter which was apparently quite important, as frantic hand gestures were now being employed. As such, Kyle first caught the eye of the slender first man, with whom he shared a gaze. Kyle, deciding that it would be in his favor to appear friendly towards Mr. Cartman's companions, offered a smile which was not returned. Upon reaching the conclusion that Kyle had business with them, the first man tapped the second quickly on the shoulder, at which point Kyle's Mr. Cartman closed his mouth hurriedly. As the second man, the brunet, caught sight of Kyle, Kyle suddenly realized that this man's effect on the group was altogether too large for him _not _tobe Mr. Cartman. Thrown off by this new, more accurate thought, Kyle had little time to revise his plan of attack, and floundered slightly as the group, having accepted Kyle as their fourth member, changed shape to allow each equal access.

"M-Mr. Cartman, I presume?" Kyle addressed the brunet. He instantly cursed himself for his stutter. "My name is Kyle Broflovski. May I say that I am quite pleased to make your acquaintance."

When he had still thought the third man was Mr. Cartman, Kyle had planned on deeply bowing to him after speaking, in order to show his respect, and to defer appropriately to someone of such a high rank. However, the brunet's cutting, narrow gaze had suddenly struck Kyle with a desire to place himself on a level playing field with Mr. Cartman, as he had no wish to be subjected to the slurs he was certain the man had been making throughout the night. As such, Kyle did not bow. Instead, he kept steady eye contact and extended his hand.

If the move was considered disrespectful or if it had been unexpected, it was not clear. The two blonds remained silent while Mr. Cartman—who Kyle was now certain _was indeed _Mr. Cartman—reached out to firmly grasp Kyle's hand. Kyle thought for a moment that an impressed look flashed across Mr. Cartman's face, although impressed with what, he was not sure. Mr. Cartman kept their hands together while he responded.

"The pleasure is all mine, certainly." Mr. Cartman spoke with a deeper voice than Kyle had expected. From a closer range, Kyle had the opportunity to inspect the man's eyes, which, although an incredibly dark brown, were quite piercing. Mr. Cartman kept a light smirk across his face while he brought Kyle's attention to the two men by his side, although his eyes remained on Kyle's figure. "And while my men must hate to trouble you with their presence, I shall take the initiative and introduce you to them in turn." While the first blond muttered lowly under his breath something about not being a part of 'your men', Kyle became aware that Mr. Cartman was accustomed to speaking to his friends in ridiculing tones.

"Kenneth McCormick," Mr. Cartman said, referring to the unkempt blond. While Mr. McCormick merely nodded his head, Kyle decided to treat each man as if he were an equal, thinking that Mr. Cartman's great wealth was not a good excuse for his crudeness or any subsequent misconduct, and so he shook hands with the blond. Mr. McCormick's face softened slightly at the gesture, and Kyle was certain that although he may not have angered Mr. Cartman as of yet, he had almost certainly piqued his curiosity. And this, he concluded, was likely to his advantage.

"And Leopold Stotch." At the second introduction, Kyle acted the same, and the excited, smaller blond broke into a bright grin.

"It is a pleasure," Mr. Stotch spoke, with a strange accent. Noticing Kyle's confusion, Mr. Cartman clarified for him.

"Mr. Stotch is an _American_." Mr. McCormick subsequently held back laughter as Mr. Stotch adopted a sheepish look. Kyle felt rather lost in the mess of what were likely years-long relations between the three men.

"All of that besides," Mr. Cartman began, "I believe that you, Mr. Broflovski, had some other aim in approaching us, rather than to simply place yourself in my company."

"Yes," Kyle began, eyes flitting to each of the three men while Mr. Cartman's gaze on him did not stray. "I hope that I am not intruding on a private matter, but I had heard through a good friend of mine that a highly respectable man had commissioned a mansion to be built not far from my home."

"And may I inquire as to where your home is?" Mr. Cartman said, still smirking, eyes still probing. Kyle noticed Mr. McCormick look briefly between the two of them, perhaps not seeing why Mr. Cartman might choose to evaluate Kyle so thoroughly.

"Ah, it would be here, in Parkshire," Kyle said. "We are but a few hours from here."

"Then I can confirm your good friend's word, and say that yes, I am in the very beginning stages of taking on such a project."

"But I have heard that you have already selected an architect," Kyle continued.

"Yes." Mr. Cartman's tone turned his words into a slight taunt.

"And would that architect happen to be Mr. Garrison?"

"Yes."

Kyle, though he would have preferred not to ask anything of Mr. Cartman, who seemed the kind to take full advantage of anyone and everyone, still went ahead with his plan. However, he again could not bear to present a more submissive picture of himself to Mr. Cartman, and ultimately engaged the man eye-to-eye once again while he revealed his intent.

"Then, while I understand the suddenness of my request, and that you may interpret it as being far above my station, I shall make myself clear on the matter, so that we can either go swiftly ahead with it, or forever place it behind us: I myself am an aspiring architect. Mr. Garrison, as you are almost certainly aware, has a far-reaching influence and would be an incredible man to work with. The experience which I would gain from this endeavor would be invaluable to me. And thus, I will ask you if I may be present for a great part of the planning and execution of the project. I give you my word that I shall not disrupt the process, and should you so wish, I could give my amateur hand in assisting with it. I shall obviously request no payment in return."

Hoping that the sheer length of his request had not bored Mr. Cartman to tears before he could make a sound decision, Kyle stood silently and waited for a response. Mr. Cartman seemed to consider it thoroughly, while Mr. McCormick scratched at his face and Mr. Stotch remained silent, as he had for most of the evening.

"Perhaps," Mr. Cartman began, "were I to further make your acquaintance, I should ascertain whether or not you are fit to take part in my plans." Kyle did not miss the satisfaction that passed across Mr. Cartman's face at being able to single-handedly decide another man's fate. "And so, express to your wife—"

"I am unmarried currently, and am living still with my family."

Mr. McCormick seemed to repress a slight snicker.

"Ah," Mr. Cartman sighed. "Then express to your relations that a visit from myself should be expected in a rather short amount of time." The man took a step towards Kyle. "I trust you will make the Broflovski household accommodating for me."

And before Kyle could speak again, Mr. Cartman continued stepping forwards and passed Kyle without a farewell, their arms brushing slightly as Mr. McCormick followed impassively and Mr. Stotch trailed behind, leaving Kyle a slight nod.

Kyle turned, in an effort to watch Mr. Cartman depart, and as a consequence, he heard a few lines of the trio's conversation before they exited the Donovan household:

"We are already leaving?" Mr. McCormick asked.

"Shush!" Mr. Cartman scolded him. "We have left Mr. Broflovski behind in a grand fashion, and I will not cheapen our exit by meandering about for some time before leaving; the only result would be the lessening of our excellent first impression. Ah! He was quite in awe of my presence, was he not?"

Kyle noted, with slight shock, that Mr. Cartman's short rant included both a marked shift in tone and a change in expression, his face now bright with childish excitement. The three left with Mr. Cartman reprimanding Mr. Stotch for being overly nervous and possibly threatening the image he had worked so very hard to present.

Kyle adopted a confused, furrowed brow, as he had been assessing Mr. Cartman's character based on their previous exchange. And yet suddenly, with his last few words, the man had become twice as puzzling.

...

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed it, it was a lot of fun to write! Shout-out to the lovely Pallas-Athena of tumblr for being my historical advisor, although I've essentially just been using her as an editor as well. Please tell me what your opinion of the story is! Thank you!**


	2. Mr Cartman's Visit

__**A/N: Here we are, the second chapter! Not much to say, I think, besides that it's pretty long... Enjoy! Also, tumblr user artishtic drew some wonderful art of the characters based on the ballroom scene in the last chapter! Go check it out, it's awesome!  
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_Chapter 2 – Mr. Cartman's Visit, Which Brings With It Music And Foolishness_

Kyle informed his mother that the family should expect a visitor in the near future, and Mrs. Broflovski wasted little time in tidying the home herself, in addition to forcing the men of the household to do so as well. Ike quickly regretted his having helped Kyle become acquainted with Mr. Cartman when, after two weeks of keeping the house absolutely clean (Mrs. Broflovski refused to have her guests unearth even a speck of dust during their stay) the man never made an appearance and their work seemed to be all for naught. And while Mrs. Broflovski's resolve to maintain a cleanly home was lessening gradually with each day, Kyle found himself more curious by the minute, becoming increasingly concerned with the quality of Mr. Cartman's character, and the extent to which he had been concealing his true disposition while at the earlier ball.

And as Kyle's curiosity was fomented by the man's absence, so was his worry upon remembering the vital connections which he would find impossible to make without Mr. Cartman's assistance. The idea of relying upon Mr. Cartman, while it was not one which Kyle found appealing, was necessary to take into consideration when deciding how to present himself around the wealthy man. Were he to offend, in any way, there was a significant possibility of his current opportunities disappearing, and being swiftly replaced with a certain amount of slander against his name.

Kyle began to spend a large portion of his time sketching enormous mansions, in the style of Mr. Garrison's recent work, which he often left unfinished, and whose cost he estimated to be approaching 50,000 pounds. However rich Mr. Cartman _truly_ was, he would think distantly, the likelihood of his having 50,000 pounds to toss gleefully at a fickle architectural project was quite small. Yet Kyle continued his designs, and began adding more decorative aspects to each, which would raise their cost to an unimaginable sum.

It was while Kyle was drawing such an estate, in midafternoon, and approximately one week after Mrs. Broflovski's need for total cleanliness had subsided, that Mr. Broflovski, in a voice filled with sudden anxiety, called his son to the front door. Upon doing as his father requested, Kyle found himself facing the familiar heavy brunet he had met at the ball, who still wore his mischievous smirk, as if it had never left his face. Surrounding him were his fair-haired cohorts.

"It seems that Mr. Cartman has answered your invitation," Mr. Broflovski proclaimed, sounding simultaneously thrilled by the presence of such a rich man at his doorstop and horrified by the prospect of having to meet the needs and expectations of all three odd-looking characters. "How wonderful for us to be host to such respectable guests!"

"Yes, I cannot _begin_ to imagine how excited you must be!" Mr. Cartman declared. As his eyes left Mr. Broflovski's face and fixed themselves upon Kyle's, the two orbs lit up in an expression of happy anticipation. Mr. McCormick and Mr. Stotch remained silent, although Mr. Stotch, still very eager to please both his companions and his hosts, performed a small bow of gratitude. Kyle could not keep himself from looking slightly displeased, as he had been expecting a quiet evening away from company, and was hoping that he might spend his time alone, consumed by his sketches. He attempted, but was unable, to change this expression into one of a more welcoming variety. And yet, he found that his unhappiness need not be hidden in order to accommodate his visitor; the sight of Kyle's frown only added to the length of Mr. Cartman's pleased grin.

Mr. Broflovski had, by this time, taken his leave to inform Mrs. Broflovski of the sudden increase in dinner guests; thus, a short, angry cry could be heard from the kitchen, where the woman, who had been taken entirely by surprise at this announcement, hurried to engage every hand she could in the preparation of their meal. Kyle therefore thought it wise to lead Mr. Cartman away from the dining room, and showed the motley trio to the family's drawing room, instead. Mr. Cartman followed Kyle's lead, with a small bounce in each of his steps, and was quite obviously pleased with the small amount of chaos he had thus far been able to incur. Mr. McCormick surveyed the house with the utmost care, steering clear of larger objects and wall decorations, particularly those that appeared especially heavy or sharp. Mr. Stotch repeatedly smoothed his hair, which continued to defy him, and held his hands clasped nervously in front of him.

Upon their arrival into the drawing room, Mr. Cartman suddenly cried out, and pushed past Kyle to inspect the worn piano which lay across the far wall. Mr. McCormick rolled his eyes, yet did not hesitate to walk towards the chair which was in the middle of the room, in an arrangement which included two more chairs and a sofa, and was centered around a small table. He sat down in the chair without an invitation, removed his hat, and placed it on the floor. As Kyle was about to make an attempt at conversation, or perhaps protest his guests' impolite attitudes, Mr. Stotch approached him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Broflovski, but would it be alright for me to make use of your furniture?" Obviously the man had great trouble articulating himself around strangers, and so Kyle refrained from reprimanding the trio and instead led Mr. Stotch graciously to the sofa, where he, too, found a seat.

"Who plays?" Mr. Cartman suddenly called out. Kyle turned to see the man running his fingers upon the wood of the piano, which was rough and in places likely chipped. Kyle was tempted to approach and ensure that Mr. Cartman did no harm, as he seemed the sort of man who had little concern for the property of others. But Mr. Cartman handled the instrument with care, and discovered the keys with little trouble.

"I play but a little," Kyle admitted, wary of being forced to perform a song which was far above his skill level, "as do my mother and father. My younger brother, however, finds the piano a fine source of amusement, and often plays to entertain himself."

"I see, 'amusement', only," Mr. Cartman repeated, his voice edged with a sneer. Kyle was surprised by the slight hostility which the man now exhibited. "And does he not have respect for music in a different sense?" Mr. Cartman brushed off the piano seat, and placed himself upon it, his fingers poised carefully above the yellowed keys. He suddenly looked much more like a gentleman.

"I do not believe he has practiced with artistry in mind," Kyle said, now curious towards Mr. Cartman's apparent expertise in music.

"Hm." Mr. Cartman seemed to consider this shortly before playing a single note. "Nonetheless, I should like to hear him play." He then stared at Kyle, apparently expecting him to fetch Ike and force the boy to perform.

"I do not think he would enjoy performing for an audience," Kyle said, willing himself to speak less sharply than before. Mr. Cartman smirked, yet again.

"But, Mr. Broflovski, there are so few other sources of 'amusement' here, that I think you would be doing your guests a great disservice if you were to deprive them of music as well." Mr. Cartman's eyes shined, and although Kyle understood that the man took enormous pleasure from tormenting him, he could not resist glaring and otherwise expressing his annoyance.

"I shall retrieve him from his room, then," Kyle spat, standing suddenly, "as, if this would satisfy _Mr. Cartman_, then quite clearly the rest of us have nothing to be upset about!"

Immediately upon ascending the stairs and stopping outside of Ike's room, Kyle cursed himself for letting his temper get the best of him. However, on another level, he admitted that, were he to succeed in his efforts to befriend the exasperating Mr. Cartman, he would likely find himself expressing his rage indiscriminately on a more frequent schedule. It was to his advantage to become acclimated to the man's brash nature now, then. Kyle rapped his knuckles upon Ike's bedroom door.

"Ike," he called, "we have _visitors_."

His brother's head appeared quickly as the door was pulled aside. Ike wore a small smirk, which, thanks to Mr. Cartman's similar expressions, angered Kyle far more than it should have.

"Your employer has finally arrived? I must say, I _am _surprised!"

"Yes, yes, but do not remain surprised for long, as he has requested that you perform for him on the piano. Oh, Ike, do not look _too _excited, or Mr. Cartman shall believe you are actually eager to play."

Ike's smirk had quickly dissolved as the news of this request reached his ears. In its place was a wrinkled nose, a telling sign of his distaste towards the situation. Kyle, having already dealt with Mr. Cartman's smart mouth, reached out and grabbed Ike's wrist, determined to lead him to the drawing room despite any protests. However, his younger brother predictably struggled.

"I am not an animal who only plays piano for the amusement of your company," Ike declared defiantly, "but I may be willing to act as one if you should provide me with ample compensation."

"I can ensure payment only if I secure a position of trust with Mr. Cartman," Kyle said, "and while it appears he may want me for company again at a later date, I do not think my skills as an architect are currently being taken into account." Kyle thought of Mr. Cartman's gleaming eyes at his reactions to being even slightly prodded by the man's teasing words. "I have never met a man I so want to impress. And if you should help me in this endeavor, I shall certainly repay you. In twice the amount you expect, I am sure."

Ike scrutinized him, to determine how well he could trust his brother's word.

"Then I will aid you," he said. "But you should consider a reward of three times what I expect, and you should consider that my expectations are quite high." Kyle smiled weakly, but led his brother to the drawing room without another word.

As they entered, Mr. McCormick paid them no mind, likely because he had covered his face with his hat and looked to be asleep. Mr. Stotch waved timidly and smiled.

"Ah," Mr. Cartman exclaimed, upon catching sight of Ike, "you are the brother. Sit." His demands startled Ike, who had approached Mr. Cartman with his hand extended. Kyle was slightly confused at this display as well, as Mr. Cartman had acted much more interested in making _his_ acquaintance at the ball so many weeks ago. It was, Kyle thought, as he watched Mr. Cartman once again eye the piano, perhaps because Mr. Cartman was too involved with his music to bother with a proper introduction.

Ike, with a look over his shoulder at his brother, complied, and seated himself carefully before smiling up at Mr. Cartman, who had stood and had taken a spot to the side and still had a hand on the top of the piano.

"I know a good few songs, although I would like to know your preference."

Mr. Cartman waved his hand dismissively at the boy.

"No, begin playing. I am merely looking for a way to approximate your skill."

Ah! But these words were Ike's bane, and although Kyle had been assured that a short, enjoyable song would be played, the beginning notes of a more challenging piece, one which Ike had only begun to practice a week before, were plunked out on the piano as Ike attempted to prove himself.

It took less than a minute for Mr. Cartman to sigh and say, "stop, stop," while swatting Ike's hands from the keys. Ike now looked cross, having been treated horribly from the moment he entered the drawing room.

"Dear god, Kyle, your brother has not even bothered with a certain _tone_ for this piece; he merely _hits the keys_ and hopes for a melody to come out!" Mr. Cartman laughed bitterly, and motioned for Ike to stand. Shocked and thoroughly insulted, Ike huffed and disappeared from the room. Kyle, meanwhile, was still standing, paralyzed by Mr. Cartman's rudeness towards his sibling as well as his sudden use of Kyle's first name.

"I believe you have violated a social convention of the upper-class, Mr. Cartman," Mr. McCormick said, hat still over his face. He waggled his finger in the air, mocking the gesture commonly used while reprimanding a young child. "It is considered vastly impolite to speak to your casual acquaintances using such an intimate address as their given name."

"Oh! But how _tired _I am," Mr. Cartman bewailed, seating himself at the piano, "of the _polite_!"

Kyle remained stunned by this display, while Mr. Stotch looked embarrassed for everyone; Kyle was about to speak (what he did not know) but was silenced by Mr. Cartman suddenly playing a song himself, the very same that Ike had attempted only a moment before.

"John Fields' Nocturne number three, A-flat major." Mr. Cartman spoke smoothly over the clear sound coming through the instrument. "It should not be played so loudly, or so determinedly as your brother had approached it, Mr. Broflovski." Kyle wandered towards the piano, finding himself wholly impressed by Mr. Cartman's display. He took up a spot next to the piano, watching the man's hands dance across the keys with a certain kind of gentle accuracy. "It is a bit soft, and I have always played it as such. It brings a picture to the forefront of one's mind, does it not?" Still playing, Mr. Cartman turned to grin at Kyle. "The tune tries to stay graceful, but often sounds strained. As if it were someone who is trying their very, very best to remain composed. And while the calm veil may seem adequate to the man himself—onlookers can see through it quite easily."

This statement, full of bad manners, was the last such sentence Kyle would tolerate. He turned without another word to Mr. Cartman and forced his legs to carry him from the room, lest he make a terrible mistake and lose any chance at maintaining Mr. Cartman's friendship. As he walked away, face burning red, he heard the nocturne continue, and then there was one more call from Mr. Cartman:

"This piano needs tuning!"

...

Mr. Cartman's bad manners remained flawlessly intact while the family and their guests dined; his comments caused Kyle significant discomfort throughout the entire affair, for if they were not inappropriate, Mr. Cartman's words were always irritating.

Yet the odd trio did not request lodging at the Broflovski estate, for which the entire family was glad, and they readied themselves to leave almost immediately after the meal was through. Kyle felt guilty over his having been the one to invite such a loathsome bunch, and even more so when his mother retreated to her room early even before she finished her plate. So, he alone took the initiative to lead his guests to the door and see them off.

"My hat," Mr. McCormick said suddenly, after the four of them were poised at the entrance, and were about to make their exit. "I have left it in the drawing room; if you'll excuse me." That said, he pushed past Kyle to retrieve his possession, and Mr. Cartman's eyes flashed before he sharply prodded Mr. Stotch in the back.

"Accompany him," Mr. Cartman said, "for, with his luck, he'll likely forget the way back and end up delaying us atrociously, or else return bearing a new wound." Mr. Stotch wasted little time in nodding, although by now his anxiety had calmed, and as he submitted to Mr. Cartman's will, it appeared to be more out of habit than fear. With both blondes occupied elsewhere, Kyle was left alone to speak tête-à-tête to Mr. Cartman, and while he decided to remain silent, his company was not willing to. Kyle realized that Mr. Cartman had sent Mr. Stotch away in order to hold a private audience with him.

"Am I to assume you are still in pursuit of an architectural position at my hand?" Mr. Cartman spoke with ease and smiled good-naturedly, as though his presence had not caused Kyle enormous amounts of stress and anger for the past several hours. Kyle thought suddenly that the man, while rich and wildly uncouth, was still very much an enigma to him, and that Kyle had learned very little about him in the time they had spent together. Additionally, Kyle did not believe he had earned the man's respect.

"I have absolutely no reference for your abilities," Mr. Cartman continued cheerfully, "yet I have enjoyed myself in your company, thus far. And would be willing to work around a certain amount of failure on your part, if you are prone to it."

"I am," Kyle said, very quickly, "that is, I am still interested in assisting you with your project. I intend to still do so." He was undeniably confused, with what he believed was good reason; Mr. Cartman was not blind to the pain he had caused his hosts tonight. But he acted as though he and Kyle had formed a bond throughout the visit. And, perhaps they had, but a different sort of bond than Kyle had wanted or expected.

"I am glad," Mr. Cartman said. He appeared to be making a great effort to maintain eye contact with Kyle, which was not difficult, as Kyle remained curious as to the man's inner workings, and so they continued to gaze at each other, until both were startled by a loud crash that came from the drawing room.

Mr. Cartman set his jaw and, with an angry stomp, stormed into the room, with Kyle at his tail, to find his two friends standing frozen beside a broken vase. Mr. McCormick's reflexes returned to him first, and he immediately lifted his hand to point accusingly at Mr. Stotch.

"My d-deepest, _deepest _apologies," Mr. Stotch said, stuttering often, his stare shifting between Kyle and Mr. Cartman. "Although, it seems that there is a f-false accusation at hand, as, s-sorry, Mr. McCormick, but you were indeed—"

"Be quiet," Mr. Cartman snapped. Mr. Stotch did as he was told, and Mr. McCormick rolled his eyes slightly as he placed his hat back upon his head. Kyle steamed besides them. First, their rudeness, which continued throughout the visit, and now, actual, tangible damage done to his home—

"Do _not_ touch a shard of it," Kyle said, his voice quite shrill. "And make your exit as soon as possible!" With a final smirk, Mr. Cartman tipped his hat and left, with his companions following him in a haphazard procession.

Kyle was left alone to look blankly at the shattered vase, which held only a few wilting daisies, but the destruction of which he still took as an indication that he was already bearing marks of Mr. Cartman's unruly presence.

...

Less than a week later, a messenger arrived at the Broflovski home with a strange and unexpected parcel. The thick brown paper which served as wrapping was quickly stripped away by the family, and an expensive vase, white with golden edges and a feather pattern brushed onto the sides, was revealed. If used to replace the broken vase, it looked horribly out of place in the humble Broflovski home. A note accompanied the treasure:

_The price of this vase greatly exceeds that of the previous. Due to this difference in cost, and given your character, I expect that you feel you are now in my debt. I shall be attending the Valmers' ball, which is to be held in two weeks, and if you choose to attend as well, you may consider us even._

_Sincerely yours, ETC_

__...

It seemed to Kyle as thought the decision to visit the Valmers was made for him months ago, when he first heard of Mr. Cartman's existence. Whether he would ultimately have been better off had he never caught wind of the man, he knew not. And although Mr. Cartman proved consistently aggravating, whether at the Donovans' ball or the Broflovski's own household, Kyle conceded that there was, at some level, a curiosity he felt towards the man. This curiosity did not entirely make up for Mr. Cartman's crude ways, but it did compel Kyle to seek his company when he felt he _should_ be utterly repulsed.

His meeting Mr. Cartman in the Valmers' ballroom did very little to change these feelings, and may have even encouraged them.

The Valmers' home was approximately the size of the Donovans', if a bit smaller. Kyle was not closely acquainted to their son, but the younger Mr. Valmer was known to be crippled, and often resided closer to the city, where medical attention was at hand. However, when he returned home for visits, the family orchestrated balls to ensure he remained close to his friends. The ball was held in a series of rooms, as, unlike the Donovans', there was no large central room where crowds could gather. As such, the Valmers' balls were often smaller and more intimate. Kyle walked through the home and paused to speak with a few of his other acquaintances before moving on to the farthest room.

Upon entering the room, Mr. Cartman spotted him immediately, and called him to his side (in a manner a bit too similar to how one might call a dog, Kyle mused). Then, Kyle was made to stand while Mr. Cartman and his two friends—the trinity of which, Kyle now realized, was essentially inseparable—gushed over the array of treats available for consumption at the ball. The four stood beside the long tables as they had at the Donovans', as though the food might vanish were they to step away from it.

Mr. McCormick drank heartily, frequently refilling his wine glass, while Mr. Cartman gladly procured a plate of small appetizers for himself. Mr. Stotch and Kyle, however, remained less impressed. It seemed odd to Kyle that a man of such high status as Mr. Cartman would find an excessive joy in the simple foods of a rather mediocre ball.

"Kenneth," Mr. Cartman began, "if we were to compare the Valmers' to the Donovans', who, in your most honest opinion, has presented their guests with the superior food and drink?" Mr. Cartman's bright eyes continued to shine while he busied himself with a pastry.

"The Valmers' are most certainly the hosts with the better wine," said Mr. McCormick, "although, I am unsure as to whether I am saying so because it is the truth or because I am drunk." Kyle, horrified, forced a smile.

"I-I preferred the Donovans', myself," Mr. Stotch said carefully.

"As did I," Kyle added, smiling at Mr. Stotch, as both Mr. Cartman and Mr. McCormick scoffed and Mr. Stotch received a harsh slap on the arm for expressing his opinion.

"The two of you," Mr. Cartman sneered, "are _much_ too proper."

"I was raised to be," Kyle said combatively. "Good breeding, you understand. It has a lasting impression on some of us." Mr. McCormick did not seem to appreciate this comment, as he soon left in pursuit of more wine; however, Mr. Cartman turned his full attention to Kyle, likely excited to be engaged in a debate with him once again. Kyle, although he believed Mr. Cartman to be on the whole mystifying, understood that the man had a need for someone who would be willing to insult him, if only so that Mr. Cartman could be justified in flinging insults of his own. Therefore, he now found himself less cautious when making blunt comments towards the man.

Yet Kyle caught sight of someone, over Mr. Cartman's shoulder, which distracted him and forced a look of distaste onto his face. Mr. Cartman quickly followed Kyle's gaze, which led him to Miss Stevens, who was discussing a likely male-oriented matter with a young friend of hers.

"An acquaintance?" Mr. Cartman inquired as his face darkened slightly.

"Ah, I suppose," Kyle sighed, "although not one which I am overly fond of. She has quite a penchant for me, however."

Kyle understood that Miss Steven's attraction to him was mostly due to his status as a respectable enough (if not overly so) bachelor who was widely regarded as having a bright future. And while she was by no means an unpleasant lady—in truth, Kyle respected her tenacity—Kyle believed her to be much too interested in material possessions to be of any interest to him. And as Kyle remembered his current company, he was suddenly struck by a new solution to his problem.

"Mr. Cartman," Kyle declared, "would you be opposed to meeting Miss Stevens?"

Mr. Cartman now laughed.

"What reason would I have," he chuckled, "to become a friend to a woman you seem to be trying to rid yourself of?" He shook his head.

"In terms of romance," Kyle began, and Mr. Cartman quickly turned his head in order to fix Kyle with a questioning gaze, "I believe, if she were to meet you, she would no longer consider me such an agreeable match for herself." Surely, when confronted by a man of such great wealth, Miss Stevens would find it suitable to direct her attentions to the clearly better option?

Yet Mr. Cartman remained puzzled, although his eyes had certainly widened, and Kyle suspected that he must have at some point misspoken, to cause this sudden change in demeanor.

"If you are uninterested—"

"No, no," Mr. Cartman interjected, "please, by all means. Your plan sounds excellent." Again, Kyle observed another change; now, Mr. Cartman acted with childish excitement, which reminded Kyle strongly of the first night they had become acquainted. Presently, he wondered whether this excitement had a specific cause which he was overlooking.

Mr. Cartman smiled, in a way quite different from his familiar smirk.

"If you should remain here," Kyle assured him, "then I should approach Miss Stevens and bring her to you." He turned to give a nod to Mr. Stotch, who both he and Mr. Cartman had been neglecting in conversation, but found that the timid man was now eyeing Mr. Cartman with a look of vague disappointment. As Kyle turned to retrieve Miss Stevens, he overheard Mr. Stotch and Mr. Cartman's rather befuddling exchange.

"M-Mr. Cartman, I believe you are misinterpreting Mr. Broflovski's—"

"Silence; what _you_ believe is of no consequence to me, and if Mr. McCormick has again expressed to you his concerns over my intentions, you would do well to forget them."

Were Kyle not very enticed by the idea of no longer having to dance around Miss Steven's affections, he might have stopped and become concerned over the thought of Mr. Cartman possibly taking advantage of his friendship. But, Kyle _was_ enticed, and, truthfully, was unable to think of anything that Mr. Cartman might gain by abusing their relationship.

He approached Miss Stevens—it appeared that she had seen him walking towards her, and had dismissed her friend in anticipation of his arrival. As such, she was now standing alone, her hands clasped gracefully in front of her as though she were posing for a portrait.

"Hello, Mr. Broflovski," she greeted him. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"As it is to see you," Kyle agreed. "Though I do have another aim in approaching you, other than to make conversation; and that is to acquaint you with my friend, Mr. Cartman. Surely you have heard of him."

This certainly provoked a reaction out of Miss Stevens, although it was not the one Kyle had desired. Miss Stevens gasped, then motioned for Kyle to come closer, apparently eager to share what must be a shocking fact about the man which she had learned from local gossip.

"Yes! Why, of course I have heard of _Mr. Cartman_! The gentleman who has so recently acquired a _colossal_ inheritance?"

Inheritance? Then Mr. Cartman has not always been so wildly wealthy, and has just now entered the sphere of the super-rich? Kyle thought briefly of Mr. Cartman's excitement towards the meager food supplied by the Valmers', and his horrid lack of manners. Both were marks of the lower class, and that was now quite clear to Kyle.

"Then, you have knowledge of the man? And, perhaps, there are other details which you might share with me?" Kyle, despite himself, was now leaning towards Miss Stevens as though he himself was gossiping, which, upon reflection, he was. For shame.

"Indeed; it seems that Mr. Cartman was once not only poor, but a _bastard _as well. His father by blood was Mr. Tenorman, who was quite well-known," indeed, Kyle knew of him, but by name only, "and after the man passed, his inheritance went to Scott Tenorman, the recognized heir and Mr. Cartman's half-brother. However, it seems that the younger Mr. Tenorman then passed away as well, although he was quite young, and the cause remains unknown. _And then_, a will was found, not the younger Mr. Tenorman's, but his _father's_, which gave Mr. Cartman's name and stated that, if no other heir remained, the Tenorman fortune was to go to _him_!" Miss Stevens, by this time, was making hand gestures and was as engaged in her story as Kyle was. "Imagine! And what does that say about the man, that he becomes lucky only after the deaths of many others!"

That, Kyle mused, was wildly in-character. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Mr. Cartman arguing with Mr. McCormick, who had come back from refilling his glass. Kyle was unsure as to how he should take this new information; certainly, he felt little pity for Mr. Cartman if his dead relations were merely people he did not know personally. Yet he was still in the dark as to the situation regarding Mr. Cartman's mother, for instance, or any other part of Mr. Cartman's life for that matter.

"Mr. Broflovski?" Kyle had nearly forgotten that Miss Stevens was there. "Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no, not at all. It is just that, given your knowledge of Mr. Cartman, and his rather dark history, am I correct in saying that you have little desire to meet him?"

Miss Stevens, although not overly superstitious, took her gossip quite seriously. Kyle, therefore, spared her from appearing rude by turning down his invitation.

"It is no problem, I assure you," Kyle said, as if Miss Stevens was afraid of Mr. Cartman, then there would be little chance of her being attracted to him. She smiled apologetically. And although she would have preferred that he stayed and continued conversing with her, he took his leave and returned to his other companions.

As soon as Mr. Cartman caught sight of him again, the man ran to him, and away from Mr. McCormick, who Kyle had assumed he was still fighting with. As the topic of their argument did not concern him, Kyle had desired to stay out of it. Yet, when Mr. Cartman stood in front of him and placed his hand on Kyle's arm, Kyle received a stiff glare from Mr. McCormick, and understood that he had already been involved.

"Mr. Broflovski!" Mr. Cartman shouted. He did not comment on Kyle having not retrieved Miss Stevens, as his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. "I will take this opportunity to formally invite you to visit me, over a period of a few days, at my estate, which is located—well, that can wait, what is important is your willingness to go." Kyle, although he knew this would be quite a positive experience for his career, hesitated slightly, as the offered stay did not appeal to him.

"But we should stress that it is pivotal that you should supply us with more company, as well, and extend the invitation to your close friends, perhaps," Mr. McCormick said, and Kyle sighed in relief while Mr. Cartman took to gnashing his teeth.

As Mr. McCormick and Mr. Cartman exchanged silent glares, Kyle prayed that Stanley would be merciful enough to accompany him. Mr. Cartman was still greatly mysterious to him, and he was rather opposed to visiting a house whose owner he knew only fleetingly. That, in combination with Mr. Cartman's general obnoxious attitude, repulsed Kyle. However, if Stanley was at hand, he might find the trip tolerable.

* * *

**A/N: What kind of shenanigans will Kyle and Stanley get into at Mr. Cartman's place? Please leave your comments and concerns, or story alert if you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!**


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